


Sinnerman, Where You Gonna Run To?

by adrift_me



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Smut, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Forced Mark, High Chaos (Dishonored), Jealousy, M/M, Marked Teague Martin, Requited Corvosider, Teague doesn't really love though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 19:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12824331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: But the Lord said, "Go to the Devil", the Lord said,"Go to the Devil!"Teague Martin knows that every gift comes with a price. Especially one given to the unwilling one.Character study of one of the most peculiar and shady people in Dishonored universe.





	Sinnerman, Where You Gonna Run To?

**Author's Note:**

> Some weeks ago I was replaying DH1 and my attention was drawn to Teague who I pretty much ignored till that day. Suddenly, my eyes opened and I realised I was missing out on an absolutely amazing character. So I decided to play with the idea of marked Teague and his story in general. This was interesting and I'd like to do it again.
> 
> Let me know what you think in comments? ;)  
> Title based off Nina Simone's song "Sinnerman".
> 
> [Come chat with me on tumblr or send me a prompt :)](https://a-driftamongopenstars.tumblr.com/)

_“Heretic. Heretic. Skin muddled with heresy and so is your soul. Redeem, brother, before the Outsider takes you to the Void.”_

_They put him in stocks and set fire around him, their shadows ghastly and almost oily, torches springing up in the air accusingly. His hand burns and the mark glows from beneath a thin leather glove. He is not surprised to see it, he feels it has been there for years. Flames lick at him as the fire draws nearer and his eyes are blinded by its brightness. In the last moment he can see the Outsider, and his eyes are impassive, arms folded, lips pursed. His head is cocked slightly as if he is wondering, will Overseer Martin finally succumb and put his gifts to use. Teague spits in his godly face and laughs and the Outsider laughs with him, not kindly at all, waiting for the fire to swallow him._

Teague wakes up with a startle, his heart beating madly and his body aching as if he hasn’t slept at all. His sheets are damp with sweat and tangled unpleasantly between his legs. He looks around in the small dark dormitory, his Overseer brothers sleeping soundly until the morning bell. Some are missing, out on patrolling duty or other tasks that the Abbey requires.

He falls back on his bed, feeling the roughness of pillow under his head. His breathing is loud and ragged as he lets the air out through clenched teeth. The words of the nightmare ring in his ears, _heretic_.

There is a tingle, soft pain on his hand, an echo of the terrifying dream. He looks at it…

Is this a nightmare he hasn’t woken up from or reality turned nightmare? His hand, pale, long fingered, strong. Blemished by the Outsider’s mark, looking fresh and sinister with its sharp shape and blackness. Teague’s hands shake as he stares at the Mark, and anxiety grips on his heart. It must be a joke, a terribly joke by his brothers, but who would be so cruel as to put his life in danger?

He gets up from the bed in terror, scrubs with his nails at the rough skin, but the mark is embedded in his hand to last forever. It itches and hurts a little, and the more Teague is trying to claw it off, the blacker it seems. Imagination or not, it’s there.

He has been marked by the Outsider.

He wonders what the god wants with him, what games he is playing. Does he enjoy beheadings or public burnings, for one will surely follow as soon as his mark is discovered?

Careful not to disturb sleeping Overseers, Teague slips in a robe and follows in a set of shower stalls behind the dormitory. Finding the place empty, he runs the shower loud and strong and scrubs at his skin, pain of light scratching helping him concentrate. He mutters angrily, curses the god, blasphemes him with as many dirty words as he can remember, and those are many. He hopes they crawl under the Outsider’s skin and burn him away.

Not many options remain before someone as rational as Teague. To flee to be a free man of unwanted power, succumb to the heretical god and beg for mercy or to remain in the holy abode, fighting with all his being against the temptations of the black-eyed god.

If there is something Teague learnt in his life, it’s that no gift comes without a price.

***

Luck loves the fallen. And Teague might just be the luckiest man in the Empire. Questions evade him, quizzical glances are never bestowed on him. But fear remains, for his luck cannot be a lasting thing, even if it has served him for many a year.

The mark is an ever present reminder that Teague is yet to pay for it. Forced into the connection with the Outsider, he wonders what he has been submitted to. And what he can do to deny whatever is offered, because life costs more than a black inked mark and boundless power.

When, _if_ , the Overseers find out what hides under the thin veneer of glove fabric on Teague’s hand, they wouldn’t listen to his pleas that he wishes he never met the black-eyed bastard.

But he does meet him. The deity doesn’t come to visit his dreams anymore, but he feels his presence always, as if teasing and calling. Feverishly he seeks the god out, goes on patrols more often than before, though discreetly; he memorizes locations of condemned heretics and comes to thrash their apartments before street gangs or Overseers themselves come to clear it out.

The first shrine he comes across is magnificent. Rich, decorated with plenty of purples and blues, dozens of lights surrounding it. It appears to be well looked after, and it is no surprise, because the former owner, now lying dead in trenches where the Empress’s eyes don’t see, was a nobleman. The shrine is nothing like the Abbey describes it, perhaps, because Teague is a rare exception of all rules, the Overseer with the mark. He feels power surge and twist around the shrine, can almost see the fabric move under the wind that is not present in the room. Colour pulls away from reality, drowning in black smoke that is not like smoke at all. And with that blackness appears another, a man with eyes like oil, hovering over the shrine and leering down.

The Outsider is the world. Teague feels it with every fibre of his being, every cell of his aching because he realises he sees something no one should, but some are granted access to. He stares mesmerized, strictures drilled in his mind only a muffled sound now. He stares in his black eyes which are meant to bewitch him. His mind reels with the idea that he is allowed a glimpse of the Void’s persona, and it makes him swell and burn. But he is Teague Martin, and he will not be taken easily.

He tears his gaze away and spits on the ground. The Outsider looks at him eerily, his gaze unwavering and his eyes unmoving.

“I knew this to be the beginning of our relationship. I am only surprised it took you so long to come and meet me, Teague. Your curiosity, striving to be ahead of everyone and further, always keep some trick up your sleeve had to have driven you here sooner.”

“It is not easy to meet with a god who does not wish to be found,” Teague says, quiet anger making him clench fists.

“I wanted to see how far you would go. Quite far, as it turns out, but I am not surprised. For a man such as yourself the trifle of seeking something you want is no big deed. Did you enjoy praying on the stone cold floor, muttering strictures you give no meaning to, while my Mark burnt your skin?”

Teague clenches teeth and then thrusts his hand forward.

“Take it back.”

The Outsider sneers and takes Teague’s hand in his. He looks at it with distaste, as if he holds something unpleasant. And Teague feels a shiver. Hates his body for reacting in such a manner, but he can’t help it because it suddenly strikes him that he is touched by a deity, a holy being of the beyond. Touched by it, he feels special, even if the Outsider’s eyes show nothing but contempt. The Outsider runs fingers over the mark and then lets the hand fall freely.

“No.”

Teague glares at him instantly.

“I could get rid of it. What will you do then?”

The Outsider vanishes from the spot to reappear behind Teague, whispering in his ear, cold air blowing on his skin.

“I would rather see what _you_ will do, Teague. You are not the type to squander things that can be useful. You are at an advantage before your brothers and peers. My Mark is only a step, a tool. What you desire to do with it is your choice entirely.”

Sneering still, the Outsider dissolves and colour and warmth return to the room, leaving Teague panting and angry. He knows only too well that there _is_ no choice.

***

To Teague’s credit, he does try to ignore the allurement of the mark. Even as it itches for him to try, to experiment, to see what wonders he can perform with the tool of the Void at his disposal. He can feel a burning stare of black eyes wherever he goes, nudging him to clench his fist and taste the Void’s power. In response, he prays more, abstinates from anything but duties, but even then the Mark becomes one point of obsession. After every communal prayer with the Overseers, they talk of how the Outsider’s power is beyond their reach, how it darkens minds, how it leads people away from the path of goodness. And Teague, rubbing the mark over the glove, clenches teeth, because it’s right there and he need only try. But how much is he ready to sacrifice, his free will or his brilliant mind or his freedom itself, all of it to try?

And some day soon, he does.

Using the Outsider’s powers leaves him unsettled for a whole week. It is not the fear that grips him, but an insatiable craving to use more. It made his life so much easier for a moment. He only needed to look at the Overseer in his question intensely enough to penetrate his mind and make him say what he refused in full consciousness. Teague’s eyes are hungry when he watches the Overseer’s mouth moves and say the things he denied mere minutes ago. It gets Teague to the places he wanted, to the library section where all the works on the black-eyed deity are kept, and with that the Overseer’s use ends. He lets go of the threads of his weak mind and feels excitement wash all over. It’s addiction, and it makes him feel unsettled.

What he hates is that he likes it. Loves it. He didn’t know the Mark’s power has been quite so physical, making his nerves and veins burn for a second, engulfing the world in so many sensations and drowning him with it. He would flex his fingers sometimes, burn the power up never to release it. A sensation so powerful, it makes him feel special. No other Overseer has it and he alone carries the power of the Outsider, even if he despises the deity and his gifts.

The question of price never leaves him. He seeks the Outsider again, finding him at another shrine.

“What do you want in return?”

The Outsider cocks his head quizzically.

“You gave me the Mark, what do you get out of this? I’m a mortal man and I don’t do anything without reason. Someone like you must have a well-calculated plan and a dozen of predictions that a normal person wouldn’t see. You are a god.”

“I am. And I have,” the Outsider says simply, disappearing from the shrine without any other clear answer.

And so Teague seeks answers elsewhere. In the library, in whispers and gossip. When he is assigned to deal with a group of heretics on the edge of Dunwall, he manages to smuggle one out to question him on his own. It doesn’t take long, as he employs his newfound gifts, hoping that at least minor usage won’t leave too deep a scar on him. And so the poor soul he has chosen comes apart under his mental touch, spilling secrets they know and screaming when Teague goes too far. But screams don’t stop him, and _he_ doesn’t stop, until the heart of the heretic does.

Knowledge rests in Teague’s hands, and a now cold body - on the bottom of Wrenhaven.

Knowledge at any cost, and it is a weapon, such is Teague Martin’s creed. He is wise enough, taught to feel the waters before stepping in deep. And so he restrains himself from using the power until he knows more. Hundreds of volumes, dozens of heretics and one elusive god - this is all that separates Teague from succumbing.

What is a man to a god’s temptation? In the end, Teague learns out, nothing.

He never thanks the Outsider. Never caresses the mark, never cuts runes or bonecharms, leaves no offerings by the shrine which he visits regardless, hoping the deity would come to talk to him again because why shouldn’t he? But he is a rare occurrence, and when he does appear before Teague, it is ungodly contempt and disregard that follows him. And with every ignored plea and visit, the marked Overseer grows angry and restless.

He learns of Daud, an assassin, the fear of all the Isles. He hears whispers that the man employs dark magic to achieve his goals, and even this drives Teague to mild jealousy. How is he different from a man who takes money for killing, how is he in any way different, but also - why is he special, that the Outsider took notice of him?

Every step of Teague’s life now is marred with the Outsider’s presence, colouring his day to day existence with jealousy, anger and, much to Teague’s annoyance, immense desire to have the god to himself for all the questions and answers he may come up with. That, and more.

***

Martin has never lived a simple life, his choices cunning and obscure, his motivations as unclear as waters of the Wrenhaven river.

But sometimes there is no choice in his life at all. When he took the Overseer’s vows (those he never said because he may have slipped through the ranks like a snake), put on another’s coat and a mask, repeated the Seven Strictures till his tongue bled, he didn’t expect to be drawn into the Void by the deity the Abbey has chosen to condemn. He never wanted to gain power without consent, without preparations, because he is a strategist, not a dreamer.

The Outsider must have seen through his soul, knowing full well that Teague wanted that gift more than anything. And yet refused out of sheer spite, but has received anyway.

***

When Teague Martin comes to the Outsider’s shrine, hidden within the abandoned structures and ruins of the Pits, he never kneels. A heretic to heresy, he comes in full Overseer attire, sometimes even slipping a mask on. He lives a dark secret dream of many followers of the Seven Strictures, which they recite every night before the books while their mind burns with want of supernatural powers and the Outsider’s attention.

And he is the only Overseer to be bestowed with the black-eyed god’s attention. He wishes he never had it now, decades later of being the Marked one.

“Coming at so late an hour, Teague. I hope your journey to the Pits was pleasant, for anything feels better when hands are not cuffed in stocks. Your life is changing by minutes, so what is an hour to a man? Entertain me, what have you come to preach today?”

“Spare me your monologues,” Martin replies curtly, weariness seeping through his voice as he sits on the ground. Today he wears no mask and his clothing is shabby, damp and stained with street dirt. His face is bruised and there is dark dry blood in the corners of his mouth. He looks calm, but there is well contained anger shaking through him.

He can’t get rid of the image of Corvo in his mind. He barely remembers the face, hidden behind a terrible mask, but he does remember the glow of the Mark on his hand, when he took out Teague’s mocking captor. Two of them in the vicinity of each other, does one have more favour of a god than the other?

The Outsider hovers over the shrine, his head cocked curiously as he looks down at the man.

“Then is your visit merely another weekly habit you cannot bring yourself to get rid of?”

“You can spare me your questions either,” Teague waves at him dismissively and then lights a cigar. The Outsider waits patiently while he takes a deep drag, making the end of the cigar burn in orange blaze. When he breathes out, he looks away and shakes the ash off lightly. “You marked him.”

The Outsider’s mouth curls in a smirk first, then in a toothy grin. There is barely any kindness in the way his eyes pierce Martin.

“Is this jealousy, Teague?”

“Don’t fool yourself, Outsider,” he takes a short drag of the cigar and looks straight at the deity, hovering above him on the shrine. “You once said you never interfere. Never change the tide of things, let people do it themselves. So why mark him _now_ of all time, when he needs that power the most? Wouldn’t it be the interference you so cautiously avoid?”

The Outsider is still smiling.

“Corvo is unlike others. I enjoy seeing his path unravel. His choices lay before me in dozens of threads, but those he has chosen so far has shown nothing but his kindness and mercy. Peculiar for a man of his position.”

Teague laughs softly and leans back on the sturdy planks of the floor, hooking an arm under his head. He points the cigar at the Outsider bitterly.

“Did you find yourself a favourite?”

“I don’t have favourites.”

“Liar.”

The Outsider smiles again, amused. Any person would have cowered and stared in shock at Teague’s open contempt of the deity. But he ran out of patience long ago, and he never had any respect for him either.

Teague blinks when the Outsider vanishes in a black soft cloud of smoke and reappears before him. His face hovers above, eyebrows arched high and a most peculiar mocking facial expression colouring him.

“Jealousy will get you nowhere, Teague. Be wise, as you always have been, and act on what you already have.”

Martin flinches away when the Outsider’s index finger comes to touch the tip of his chin. He turns his face and closes his eyes, sighing out heavily only when the Outsider disappears for good, leaving him in a pleasant dim room of purple lights and soft wind.

***

The shrine, hidden deep in the structures of the forgotten abandoned buildings, is the only place of solitude for Teague. He wears the High Overseer’s uniform now and smiles at himself in the small crack of a mirror. A heretic of the highest rank, the one to lead the Isle against the Outsider, who is Teague’s unwilling companion.

But as he crawls his way up to where ambitions are strong, so does Corvo. They rival each other, Corvo not knowing they do. Dedicated, devoted, he slashes and pushes his way through the city, returning only with good news and eventually the little Empress herself. For the Loyalists it’s an undoubtful win, a bow towards Teague’s strategies that he develops with his cunning skill and sharp mind. But with every victory, jealousy grows.

Corvo’s powers grow. Teague watches him from the yard, moving quicker than a blink of an eye across the Pits’ rooftops, training with a sword and seemingly gaining strength by day. His hands are more than often busy with a disgusting little device that resembles a heart and Teague can’t quite place his finger on how real this thing is. He finds out the Heart helps Corvo seek out the runes and bonecharms, for the ones that Teague hid throughout the premises were taken by Corvo himself.

Once again it makes Teague wonder - how is it a god so neutral, supposedly neutral, plays favourites. The answer comes in a manner that Teague wishes he never saw.

Quietly slipping through the broken carcasses of the building to where the shrine sleeps, he stops in his tracks, losing a breath or two, numb shock taking over him.

He has never seen worship of a god quite so literal, but Corvo managed to outdo him even with that. When Teague looks, properly, hungrily, it is Corvo’s body that he sees, recognizable by the broad shoulders and the white folded shirt, a mane of dark unruly hair. A blue golden-trimmed coat lies abandoned on the dirty floor, together with an all too familiar leather jacket.

But the most peculiar detail is the Outsider's face, peering from over Corvo’s shoulder, sharp chin resting on it. Black eyes stare at Teague, and they are all too aware for a man, even if a god, who is being _fucked_ on the altar.

Because this is what's happening. Rough thrusts of Corvo's hips, the shaking and creaking of the shrine, the low moans that would shame any girl in the Golden Cat. The god and his lover are not different from the youngsters Teague spotted every now and then in the navy and even the Abbey, pressing in secluded corners with their trousers down awkwardly and jerking each other off while no one sees. But here, Teague has no doubt - it is more than that. It's love making, pure and clear. Corvo is being thorough, his arms holding the Outsider, and the god holds him back, fingers curled and gripping onto the folds of his shirt, legs crossed around his torso and boots gleaming in the light of purple lamps.

The Outsider is still staring, black eyes transfixed on Teague’s. He is sneering a little, if not with his mouth but with the air, but soon even that expression disappears.

He turns his head and his lips meet Corvo's neck, huffing out a moan with another thrust.

"Deeper, my dear, ah... Deeper."

He gives Teague another glance, but his iris-less eyes are unfocused, odd looking. He frowns and presses tight lips to Corvo’s shoulder, moaning in his skin.

Teague's face burns to the roots of his hair and he stumbles out of the secret lair.

When that night he lies in bed, his mind echoing what he heard, Corvo's groans and growling and the Outsider's prolonged moans, he touches himself and thinks that it should have been him in Corvo's place. Oh, it should have been him.

***

Knowing the secret of the Outsider’s true relationship with Corvo, things change only subtly. He never speaks a word, behaves himself in Corvo’s presence. But slowly, word by word, he feeds the Loyalists ideas on how to dispose of Corvo once the Empress’s place on the throne is secured again. It is he who prepares the poison, it is he who forces Samuel into giving it to Corvo. The old man needs little persuasion, however, contemptuous of the Lord Protector’s choices and behaviour. To Teague, it matters not, because it is _his_ revenge.

He wishes he could be ashamed of himself. Of jealousy that has little to do with love, but more with want and envy of being the one. Has he not done enough to earn the damn god’s favour? Why a man such as Corvo has been given preference, what difference did he make?

Teague, what with all his sharp mind and clear thinking, sees nothing but blindness. As if to enrage him more, life keeps pushing him into intimate moments of the Outsider and Corvo. He growls in a pillow as much as he can allow himself in a place so constricted, but need takes over when he hears the creaking of Corvo’s bed in the attic and muffled moans. He runs hand over his own length, bites on his fingers and curses the Outsider. His mark burns unpleasantly and leaves sharp tingling for days, but he cannot stop. He wishes he could have it all to himself, the Outsider and his twisted love.

Where did that even come from?

***

In the end, Teague realises, when he stands in the control room on the Lighthouse shore, his choices don’t matter, never have. He looks in the distance, watches Corvo’s silhouette approach through shadows and blade. He is swift, skillful, a god’s favour on his side. It is either him or Teague.

Perhaps, the Outsider never had any plan for Teague. Nothing but a toy, an entertainment for a creature beyond understanding, throw him into the world with a knife and watch him stumble. When he is faced with a choice, there will be no grand gestures, no dramatic saving of life, because when Teague’s choice does matter, it is not the holy gift he settles his choice on.

A pistol feels warm and heavy in his hand, secure. He walked through his life with it and he will walk out of it just the same. He wore many masks, but his true nature has always been on his sleeve, not that anyone bothered to look at it. A snake to a man, a toy to a god, and in the end, fallen from his own graces, a nothing to himself.

“I was born into nothing, and it’s nothing I’ll return to.”

A god once told him to seek answers within himself. Does it mean he sent him to the devil?


End file.
